


Duckling

by valerienne (valderys)



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Community: waymeet, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-28
Updated: 2010-05-28
Packaged: 2017-10-09 18:36:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/90322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valderys/pseuds/valerienne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Would you believe Dom was once a little shy?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Duckling

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the '12 Days of Christmas' challenge in 2005 - this was 'Seven Swans A'Swimming'.

Ian wondered how many of these mixer meet'n'greets he'd attended over his lifetime. Long enough to allow himself the indulgence of perhaps not partying _too_ hard. With age came caution, as well as indulgence, after all.

He stared out over the polished wooden floor and watched as this latest cast of beautiful people began the task of fitting carefully together in preparation for the months of work ahead of them. Although, he thought, surprised realisation tasting sharp and strange, for this particular shoot, the work would go on for years, wouldn't it? How very odd, in this business.

He stretched his feet out a little and relaxed back in his chair, watching as the crowd eddied and swirled – although carefully, with the wooden floor so slippery, the participants balancing paper plates and glasses, and the smiling, eager ease with which everyone was determined to fit in. It was a little like watching graceful birds swimming on a lake, Ian thought, with dips of the head, and carefully poised bodies. Yes, decorative and elegant. Like swans. Like a swan ballet even, everyone so poised and precise. He smiled a little to himself, secretly pleased with his metaphor, and debated joining them. Must show willing, after all. With the word veteran came responsibilities.

But even as he debated moving from his comfortable position, he observed at least one other who obviously had some reservations about such a gathering. And looking at him, Ian doubted it was for any of the same reasons as himself. The boy – because, really, they were all boys these days, weren't they? – was leaning against the wall, his hands in his pockets. And Ian knew he was trying to look cool and sophisticated, but just his attempt at hiding behind a potted fern put the lie to that one. And the fact that the boy twitched with energy, couldn't seem to help himself in fact, made him smile again. Ian could remember – well, just about – when his own body felt too big to him, and he could never do anything right, and his nerves itched with the desire to do something – anything! – as long as he was _doing_…

Whoever said that responsibilities couldn't come with enjoyment?

Ian found himself strolling over to the boy almost without any conscious volition on his part. He could feel his pulse beating faster, and thought. Well. Perhaps age could still indulge himself after all. Then he mentally shook his head, as a reminder that this job would last for years. Best not poach on his own doorstep. Best not risk it.

The boy jumped when Ian arrived, but took the drink he was handed.

"I'm Ian," he offered, " And you are..?"

"Dominic, call me Dom, playing Merry, but you probably know that, and you're Gandalf, of course, and you'll be great, must be a bit different after Richard III though, I loved that, thought you were brill."

The boy shut his mouth with a snap, apparently realising he was babbling, and in distinctly Northern tones. Ian looked at him as his ears slowly turned pink. Remarkable ears really, rather… distinctive.

He turned away a little, to lean on the same wall as Dom, and to give the boy a small amount of time to recover.

"Well, you know, this is a remarkable shoot," he glanced across wryly, "So it's an entirely new experience for all of us, my dear."

He studied him as he considered his next words. Dom looked a little like he was going to throw up. Ian really hoped he was wrong about that, but decided to try once more to put the poor lamb at some kind of ease.

"What have you done then? Anything I might have seen."

"Just tv," came the strangled answer.

"Ooh, not Corrie, by any chance?" asked Ian, suddenly hopeful – he could always make something out of a mutual interest in Coronation Street, having placed the accent, and deciding this Dom came from Manchester, or close to it.

"Umm. A detective series. Hetty Wainthropp Investigates. And a few other bits and pieces. But mostly. Umm."

Not Corrie then. Pity. Still, not just out of drama school. Not completely wet behind the ears. What on earth was his problem?

Eventually, as the silence stretched, Ian gestured with a negligent hand, "All the food will be gone if you don't eat up. You should get out and meet some people, my dear boy, not keep an old codger like me company."

Oh, and he should be shot for using such a tired old phrase, but all lads were ravenous at his age, weren't they? Well, he'd always been, he seemed to remember.

"I…" And again, Dom really did seem to be overcome with nerves. How strange.

"Look, what is it?" said Ian abruptly, "We're here at the ends of the earth for the next year at least. If you can't even share a mutual interest with your fellow cast in tucking into prawns, and chocolate soufflé, then this could be a very long year for you."

He wondered for a second if he'd pushed a little hard, but something told him that this Dom didn't respond so well to soft soap. A Northern lad preferred a little tough love, a few insults and a mental cuff round the ear, surely. After all, Ian should know. And as easily as that he found he was smiling again. He glanced slyly at Dom, and watched him fidget. He'd taken his hands out of his pockets and was fiddling with the hem of his t-shirt. Very expressive hands, thought Ian, before mentally taking himself outside for a good talking to. He watched as Dom obviously made up his mind.

"Look, it's just that… Tv was different. More normal. Everyone was just like real people. But here…"

What on earth was the boy on about? Something must have shown itself on his face, and oh dear, bad Ian, because all of a sudden Dom burst out with,

"Everyone else is so fucking beautiful!"

And then he shut his eyes.

And Ian was, he was going to go to hell for this, because he couldn't help it. He had to laugh. Just had to. Just one little chuckle that escaped into the air, but that really was enough, wasn't it? Oh dear.

Dom's eyes came flying open like they were on speed, and he looked so endearingly upset, with his chin stuck out, seeming so thoroughly stormy… Well, it looked a lot more like his real self than Ian had seen up 'til now. Which was ironic, when you thought about it.

The Beautiful People. Dom was afraid of the Beautiful People. Should that make him laugh, or cry? This business was full of them, a stock in trade, as it were. And even as Ian leant against the wall he could feel his hip twinging a little and an ache in the muscles of his neck. And here was Dom, young and strong, with his expressive hands and stormy eyes… Ah, the jealousy of age.

"I don't really think you have to worry about that," he drawled, wondering if he could get away with a leer now, or if it would just fluster the boy more.

Dom laughed then himself, and rubbed his hands across his scalp – and his abnormally short hair _was_ an odd fashion statement, even if Ian could barely keep up with modern youth. He tipped his head to one side and Dom answered the unspoken question,

"Shaved for a part."

Well, that explained that one. And Ian approved of his dedication too, it showed the proper spirit. This Dom would be all right on this shoot, Ian was suddenly sure. He just needed to be given the proper confidence, that was all. Carefully, Ian looked out at the room, paying more attention this time, observing more closely.

"Do you see the tall young man? The dark haired boy with the olive skin?" Ian raised an eyebrow, until Dom nodded dumbly, "A little bird told me he's also going to have to shave his head to make his wig fit properly. Into some kind of widow's peak, more than likely. And he'll have to keep doing it. For a year."

He grinned across at Dom, who smiled back.

"And the lovely young Maori man there – well, he's to be covered up in approximately half a ton of latex and made to look as ugly as possible, so I believe. I overheard Richard discussing it – Richard Taylor? Oh, you'll meet him soon enough."

Ian pursed his lips as he thought.

"Have you met John yet? He's to be under facial prosthetics for the entire shoot. Oh, and there's Paul – one of our size doubles. Rather tall, isn't he? Oh. Oh well, that's a nickname in the making…"

Ian turned to Dom again, and watched him begin to make his own connections. It showed on his face.

Gently, Ian continued, "Beauty isn't always important in our business, Dom. A certain style. A certain adaptability. A lot of charisma. That can matter almost as much."

He grinned again, and this time let a little of what he'd been thinking about Dom leak into his expression. He watched as Dom's eyes widened and his mouth parted on a breath. Regretfully though, Ian wrenched his eyes – and his thoughts – away.

"You'll do fine, my boy. You're no different from most of them when it comes down to it, and I hope you realise that now. You should go and make friends."

"Umm. Right."

Dom looked thrown a little, but it also looked like he was recovering fast. It seemed like he was assessing things for himself, putting two and two together and coming up with four. Or maybe even with five. Ian watched his eyes gleam, and his tongue dart out and lick his lips quickly. Ian swallowed a little, and ignored the tiny wave of melancholy that threatened to lap against his good cheer.

Dom took a step away from the potted fern, his body braced and ready, and then turned back to Ian.

"Thanks. You know… Well. Just thanks."

"Don't mention it, dear boy. I'll see you on set then, shall I?"

"Yeah, and…" He seemed unsure, but his chin was set and resolute, "Well, Mum's offered to send me all sorts of stuff from home. She said she'd tape me anything I wanted, and… Well, I wondered if I should ask her to tape Corrie. You know, if you liked."

Ian straightened at that, and he laughed a little, but he felt warmed and charmed all the same.

"That's very kind, but I wouldn't dream of imposing. Off you go."

And this time, with a huge lop-sided grin, and a promise that they'd talk about it, Dom did.

Ian watched him as he took his place among the others. As he deftly weaved his way among the carefully chattering crowd. It looked like Dom would be finding his feet soon enough, determined now to spread his wings. Learning to fly.

And that was as it should be, thought Ian, feeling a rare satisfaction. A happy awareness of responsibilities discharged.

Because, after all, it wasn't every day that you talked an ugly duckling into recognising the swan…


End file.
